


Of Scotsmen and love remembered

by AraSigyrn



Category: Samurai Jack - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 18:58:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AraSigyrn/pseuds/AraSigyrn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack starts a journey with the Scotsman and remembers his first love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Scotsmen and love remembered

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hossgal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hossgal/gifts).



It is summer, insofar as Jack can tell in this strange future world, when his path and that of the Scotsman cross again.

The summer is a humid, horrid thing. Jack is... not _despairing_, but the collapse of yet another potential pathway back to his true time has left him discouraged and bruised. He chooses the seaside town as a remote place to rest and recover. The heat of the sun raises a foul odour from the sea and casts unforgiving light on the filth of the town. Jack explores without enthusiasm. The squalor of these places is something he thinks he will never fully adjust to. So many people, so many buildings and all crowded into so little space.

It is ironic that the very things that repulse him when he is fully engaged in his quest become the very things he seeks out when he wearies of the fight. The town is small and squalid; for all the bustling crowds it is nowhere of significance and he passes without notice through the crowds. The inn he chooses for much the same reason – a neglected part of town with patrons who take no interest in the business of others and expect a similar courtesy.

When the fight breaks out, Jack is sleeping but the ramshackle building is not stable and he is awoken when one of the outer walls falls into the street. His initial fear is an attack by Aku or one of his minions. His sword is already in his hand as he comes to his feet and his progress to the ground floor is expedited when the stairs collapse as another wall succumbs to a sudden burst of gunfire.

There is a octopus-like patron who appears to be in the middle of setting a dynamite charge on the edge of the bar. Jack severs the cord and sends the creature flying with a precise crane kick. A canine patron is easily dismissed with a punch and he deflects a stray bullet as he looks for the army of robots that must surely be behind such anarchy.

"Do ma eyes deceive me? Well I'll be blowed! It is you! How are ye, laddie!?" The voice is immediately familiar and a second later, the Scotsman appears from the melee. Three lesser combatants are dangling from a stranglehold, dwarfed by the massive arms but the smile beneath the orange beard is wide and genuine. Despite the gravity of the situation, Jack feels an answering smile cross his face.

"Well, I thank you." Jack is obliged to duck as one of the barmen throws a cask across the bar. "And how do you fare, my friend?"

"Ah well, y'know how it is. Cannae complain, cannae complain." The Scotsman casually swats a group of lighter assailants with one of the now-unconscious trio. "Wasnae expecting to see you here. What brings ye to these parts anyhow?"

"Nothing of consequence." Jack says, rendering the barman unconscious with a precise scorpion punch. "I did not expect to see you here either."

"Ah well, y'know how it is, laddie. The long sunny days and the open road calls, what's a man to do but be about his business?" The Scotsman roots through the small (and so unfortunately placed) bag that hangs from his waist and Jack renews his pledge to ask about the bag and its placement when circumstances allow. The grenade's pin clinks as he drags it out. "Ya may want tae duck, laddie."

Jack disengages from the fight with speed. His healthy respect for the Scotsman's assessment of explosives proves well founded as the devastating explosion levels the whole structure (and their opponents). Jack manages to avoid the debris but he loses sight of his friend as timbers and patrons are flung through the air. The smoke and shrapnel impede his search and Jack is obliged to concentrate on evading the flying debris.

When everything is at last still, he comes to a halt on the crest of the house opposite and his eye immediately seeks out the Scotsman. He can see other patrons but the reassuring mass of the Scotsman is not immediately visible. Jack springs down to the street, fear rising in his chest. He does not have so many friends in this time that he can afford to lose such a stalwart.

There is a crash and the Scotsman staggers to his feet, smoke and some small flames pouring from his ponytail. He lurches a little as he turns back to face the still-smoking crater. "Maybe a wee bit too much...?"

"Are you hurt?" Jack does not truly believe any of their opponents are in any condition to fight but he does not sheath his sword as he hurries to his friend's side.

"Not at all, laddie!" The Scotsman assures him confidentially as he lists sideways into the wall beside him. "Now, if ye'd just stop the world for a wee bit, I'll get off."

Jack gets under one brawny arm. "I think we should go. Quickly."

"Oh well, if you say so, laddie." The Scotsman is pliant and Jack hurries them through the streets until they are well away from the former inn. He settles the Scotsman down in an alley to check his wounds which appear trifling. "Ye never did say; what brings you to this dump anyhow?"

"Nothing of consequence." Jack tears into his kimono for bandages. "I sought only rest and some time to reflect."

"Ah." The Scotsman must read the tale in his expression and his face falls. Jack bends his attention to the bandages, grateful that he need say no more. There is a period of silence until Jack is satisfied with his work and stands back. The Scotsman climbs more easily to his feet and tests his chest. "Tis a bonny job y've done there, lad."

"I am glad I was able to help." Jack shrugs into a fresh kimono and turns back. "But you have not said what it is that brings you to this place. I did not think you travelled so far West."

"Not usually, no." The Scotsman lifts broad shoulders in a shamed shrug. "But well, ma wife was wantin' a wee bit of shoppin' done."

Jack blinks. Admittedly, he has only met the formidable woman who holds his friend's heart once but he cannot imagine how she would require anything from such a disreputable area. "She sent you here?"

"Weel, not as such, no. The local merchant, y'see, doesnae carry her favourite whisky these days so I swore I'd find it for her."

"You expected to find it in that inn?" Jack blinks again.

"I'd hoped but the barman didnae understand what I was searchin' for." The Scotsman scowls. "I wouldna feed Aku on the sinkwater he was tryin' to sell me."

"Is there anywhere else your wife's whiskey can be found?" Jack asks.

"Aye, there's a place or two left that I havena checked." The Scotsman's shoulders slump a little. "Shouldna be more than another week away."

"Perhaps..." Jack hesitates. He should be searching for news of another way home, a way to kill Aku. His heart sinks at the mere thought of another vain attempt and he sees an echo of that very same weariness in his friend's face. There is still hope in the Scotsman's eyes and Jack envies him for it. It is a foolish, trivial quest but his mouth opens without his conscious permission and he continues. "Perhaps you would find the journey less onerous if I accompanied you?"

"You would?" The Scotsman's smile takes up his entire face. "That'd be great! But only if ye're sure ye can spare the time. I wouldnae want to impose."

"It is no imposition at all." Jack insisted. "I would be happy to accompany you on your quest."

The Scotsman laughs, the wild burst of sound and emotion that transforms every aspect of him. "Well, let's no tarry then! The day's half wasted already!"

He barrels cheerfully through the crowd, already eager for the road and halfway into a story of one of his latest exploits. Jack trails in his wake, nodding apologies to those inconvenienced by their passage. "-shoulda _seen_ the size of those claws! I'm tellin' you, it was a good thing I had me sword or it would have been a verra different story! The last time I'm gonna use the lavy there!"

The air outside the city is fresh with a clean salty scent and Jack falls into step with the Scotsman. The sun is sinking towards the horizon and the path they are following is little better than a rough track which shows no sign of recent use. The Scotsman, never one to require a second party in his conversation, circles back to the subject of his wife.

This time, Jack does not try to redirect the conversation. The Scotsman loves his wife as fiercely as he fights Aku's minions. He composes poetry, the better to sing her praises and tells Jack that he fell in love with her when they were children. He also tells Jack that he had to fight two dragons to win the right to court her and her father insisted he fight _three_ dragons and one of Aku's fiercest champions before they could be married.

Jack nods and makes encouraging noises at the appropriate points. This softer side to the Scotsman is one that he does not see often and he is happy to indulge it as they work their way through the forest. Night falls and they are making camp when the Scotsman looks over his shoulder from the fire he is failing to light and asks "Y'ever fall in love, laddie?"

"I-" Jack pauses because love is not something he gives, it is received. He has been loved, that is simple fact. But loving another? The wind picks up and the trees creak, branches reaching out towards the half moon. The sea is the sound of waves on sand and the salty mix of the air. And Jack remembers in that moment, a shadowy shape of memory taking on form and meaning.

 

_The warriors lived far from the land that had been his home. The boy, still balanced on the precarious edge of childhood, came to their land with eyes wide at the endless white lands and the dark grey sea. The ship he has travelled on for weeks was struggling through the rough sea, near to foundering when the first of the long ships appeared._

The boy watched, hand hovering near the axe that was the closest thing to a weapon he possessed. He saw the sleek lines, the snarling figurehead of a mighty sea serpent. He was old enough to recognise the threat the ship posed but young enough to marvel at its beauty. The crew were all huge hulking figures with horned helmets and fur cloaks. The mist droplets added a layer of frost trim to everything but the oiled steel blades.

The captain of his ship came to the railing and shouted to the strange ship. The crew shouted back and the boy did not understand the words but when he reached for his axe, the captain shook his head and waved him back.

The strange ship turned, gliding alongside them like the serpent that it was crafted to resemble. The boy could see the crew clearly now and he had no doubt that he was looking at warriors. The pride and barely-restrained fury in every movement told him so. He had heard stories of these warriors and he looked to the captain, already certain of what he would see. He was to learn the fighting styles of all the people who would be free of the evil that plagued the world and these men were unquestionably warriors.

He was correct, the captain of the serpent-ship took him aboard and they sailed back to the sea-warriors' hall. Massive timbers, thick enough that three men could not have surrounded it with their arms stretched out to touch fingertips and high enough to comfortable house an army of giants made up the walls. The boy was entranced by the bright colours and the warm fires and the snow that during winter came to his shoulder. The warriors were a reflection of their feral lands; harsh and unforgiving in battle but loyal and loving to those they gave their trust to.

The boy learnt to fight through snow, on ice too thin to support a feather over his weight and in the bitter cold when his fingers would barely close around the hilt of his sword. His teacher was the chieftain's uncle and his fellow student the chieftain's daughter.

She was older, more woman than child and fiercely beautiful. Her hair was golden, her eyes were grey and she fought with a spear whenever she was afforded a choice. He never left their sparring matches with less than three painful bruises but she was never cruel. She did not truly seem to notice him outside of their training and even in their training, her attention was largely on their teacher.

Her spear was as much part of her as her arm, she could move as swiftly as the wind and she was a daring warrior. When raiders came in the deepest part of winter, she fought alongside the men while the boy was obliged to hold back and defend the elderly and infirm. Even the mothers left their children in the long houses and took up swords. She fought with all the fury and grace of a winter storm.

The boy saw her as beautiful from the first. Admiration came quickly for she was skilled and fierce in battle. As the days of their shared training grew in number, his admiration grew into something deeper. He strove harder at his training in the hopes that he could win her respect in return and he dreamt of her snow-pale skin and sunlight coloured hair.

He made her a flower once from scraps of material gathered from the clan. Ragged patches of the brightest cloth woven and knotted around a twig. It was not a very good flower, no matter how many times he tried to remake it. At last, he tied it with thread and it looked like a flower.

He spent a day waiting for the perfect moment. He had no sparring matches with her that day as her father had set her to learn from the wise woman of the clan. His courage failed him when he saw her at the table for dinner and he left it by her bed that night. She had stayed up to talk with her father and the other warriors. He waited, crouched and cold, by his own bed so he could see when she came.

He fell asleep and woke with a blanket tucked around him. The flower was gone. She does not mention it and he cannot find the words to ask. He will try many more times, nothing so grand – honey to sweeten her porridge in the morning, a new spearhead when hers was lost – and every time she seems not to notice.

With the spring came news and the boy woke one morning to find himself a man. He stood for a time in the chill grey dawn, bidding his childhood a fond farewell and readying himself for the way ahead. The old warrior and the chieftain did not protest. They gave him a ship and a crew to carry him back.

He left that night, heart and stomach full to bursting. She was the last to say farewell and as they stood on the pier, for the first time, she had to look up to meet his eyes.

"May the gods smile upon you." She said. "May there be a future after you are done. For us all."

She leant up and kissed his cheek. As she turned away, the man who had been the boy saw the tiny bundle of cloth and thread tucked into her breastplate.

 

"Yes." Jack says, the memory tart and bitter-sweet on his tongue. "Yes. I have loved."


End file.
